A Guitar's Stirring Love Song
by Justice Tokidoki
Summary: Even...even so...(can't)...I'll only play (last). I'll keep playing this stirring love song just for you. And that's all I'll do (long).


**Warning: Violence, suicidal thoughts/scenes, and strong sexual violence! The worst scenes are after the [***] symbol, so if you want to skip it go onto the section break.**

* * *

I sit on the couch, wincing as the action causes my lower back to protest. It's been so** long** since I've been able to just sit. No pain (blood is flowing down my sides), no tension (Is he still awake? Are you awake, bro?), no misery (I wonder what it must feel like to die), and definitely no sounds (Is that right? I'm breathing so heavily now. Can you hear it, bro?).

Well, I had little reason to complain. My house is in one **piece**, surprisingly (cracked pieces of glass everywhere, overturned tables, cotton ripped from pillows). The couch I'm sitting on is probably stained beyond repair (his blood stains the couch, my blood stains the couch), but hey, I can always get a new one in town (but I can't leave, I can't leave).

It's so quiet . . . too quiet. I can't take the silence anymore. (I still can't hear you **breathing**, have you left me, bro?) This is just too much . . .

Ah, he's moving (Why is he moving? Not possible, not possible). "Roxas?" I ask, voice barely above a whisper (Need to leave. Run away, run away).

He doesn't move much, and he doesn't acknowledge my presence (Why would he? I'm a horrible brother, horrible!). Instead I see his bloody fingers pointing, gesturing, shaking.

I turn my head. It's one of the few actions I can do that doesn't hurt (But **everything** hurts, everything is **futile**. Everything. Hurts). I stare into our cracked TV, which sizzles and hisses at me. I don't know who broke the screen, but the electricity jumping out of the box every few seconds disturbs me (need to run away, need to run away).

A low, grunting sound nearly makes me jump. Oh, but it's only Roxas. Sheesh, he's still pointing and shaking his bloody fingers. I guess it's not the TV.

But what? What does he **want**? (What more do you want from me?) "I don't **know**, Roxas," I say, and then I flinch when he looks at me (His eyes, they sting. Why does it sting? Please, look away).

And then I almost scream. He stands. He somehow pushes his hand against the floor (his bloody hands, he's staining the floor) and then his body follows. I can't see the right side of his face very clearly (there's too much blood in the way. How is he doing this? I need to leave) but from the set line of his jaw and the way his shoulders hunch up I can tell he is in a lot of pain (**I** did this to you, I hurt you. Are you angry, Roxas? Are you mad at **me**?).

Yet, he stands. Then he walks. Everything blurs together; the cracked walls (Isn't that the spot where I kicked it?), the busted TV, the shattered pieces of glass (He's stepping on some of it now. Roxas, how are you doing this?), the crimson spots laden in our rugs, the **guitar** . . .

Wait, the guitar! Yes, that's what he **wants**. I'm such an idiot (But everyone calls me that, why does it hurt more to admit this myself? Why did it **hurt** when Roxas said it earlier?).

Oh no, he's walking toward me with the guitar (run away, run away). My legs, they won't move. It hurts too **much** (Come on, it's just a rib, maybe a twisted ankle somewhere, oh and don't forget that cut on your side. Nasty stuff, right? I can still run, right?). I can only stare, only blink at him as he gets closer.

Finally, after hours he's in front of me (So much blood, blood dripping from his sides and chest and head. Roxas, why?). It's the end now, he's probably going to bash my head in with the guitar (And don't I deserve it? Such a horrible, horrible human being. Just like dad, just like Roxas. The **same** as both of them).

But he doesn't. No, he's just standing in front of me and staring. Well, one eye is staring, the other one is closed, probably to keep the blood out (I'm so sorry, Roxas. I'm so sorry . . . ). So, we stare into each other's eyes, blue into blue, and suddenly I realize that time truly has stopped (It's the only way to explain it, only way to describe this feeling. Besides, what does it matter? It **doesn't matter**, right Roxas?).

(After all, we're the only ones **alive** in this house)

"Sora?" His voice sounds soft and soothing, hesitant even (Don't fall for it, don't fall for it). "Sora, please . . . "

I simply blink. I don't want to talk (I don't want you to know that I'm scared, Roxas).

After seconds pass Roxas decides that it's time for time to move again. He sits next to me (Don't scream) then he places the Guitar in my hands. After that, his face twists with exhaustion and pain and his head falls, resting on my shoulder (It's the bloody side. Gross, gross, gross). "Can you play it?" Now he sounds scared, so scared (I don't understand, Roxas. Why are you **scared** of **me**?).

I swallow and lift one hand towards the strings, wincing as I see specks of blood on some of them (He can't play the guitar). It hurts, how surprising. Even that, a simple thing like lifting my hand hurts (Get used to it. Don't cry, can't show weakness in front of him. If you can't run, then face it). "I don't know," I say, and my voice wavers causing me to frown. I sound pathetic.

Roxas doesn't seem to care though. He just groans and moans, touching the guitar as if his life depends on it (And maybe it does. After all, he can't play it). "Please, Sora. Please." And then he cries.

When people cry it's almost **impossible** for me to not give them what they want. I **hate** it when people cry, I can't stand it (Plus, the only reason he's crying is because of me). "Okay," I say, and I sound worse than before.

Before he can say anything else, I start **playing**.

* * *

**~~~Of**

**a**

**Guitar's**

**Stirring**

**Love**

**Song ~~~**

* * *

**Note I**

The guitar **speaks** for me, through me. The notes rattle in the air, settling over Roxas and me in a deadly dance of understanding and wisdom (The music makes me feel **weak**. It makes me feel **guilty**. It's trapping me here).

Roxas barely moves, listening in between soft sobs (he's still bleeding. Still bleeding).

The notes ring higher and I can't stop my hands from moving faster, striking the strings as if they were the cause for our misfortune. The guitar sings against my silent plea, echoing off its own song while my fingers meld with the blood dripping from the strings.

It scares me, scares me because the guitar **started** it all. My life came crashing down when I heard its music (It's trapping me here, trapping me here, trapping me here).

It's like the notes are trying to carry my battered spirit away, away to the beginning, to the source of the **nightmare**. A full **circle**.

God, I'm scared (I don't want to remember, don't want to remember).

But I can't **stop** playing. It's what Roxas wants.

Roxas wants it, he needs it. He **always** needs the guitar, it always calms him down.

So, I play it. I slam my fingers, picking at the strings. So rough, so fast, I'm almost afraid I'll break it. A single, bloody hand grips my shoulder, ending the chaos. That one touch (his bloody fingers) stops me and I look into his face. He looks so vulnerable, so sad (Desperate).

I close my eyes and suck in a breath, blocking out everything around me, even his red hand and sad eyes. When I open them I'm in control and I start playing the guitar again.

This time there's precision in chaos and all the events come back in order, fluttering in the space above me with each note. The story wavers and clicks together in place and that's when I realize that I'm not afraid to share it, not afraid to let my experiences be left **naked** in the frigid air, coming to life like the electricity shooting randomly out of our TV in intervals.

It doesn't matter if I'm not ready or if I don't want to remember because the notes bring it all back. I can't run from it. I have to accept it.

Hmmm, how strange . . . it's actually kind of beautiful (why? How could something so **horrible** be beautiful?). Now I understand why Roxas calls it a love song.

And that . . . well, that is where the story **begin**s.

* * *

The guitar is an omen, it has been ever since Roxas and Aerith came and joined my family. My dad and I were comfortable being single, comfortable in the sense that it was familiar. We were used to nothing, we were used to reservedness. We knew confinement like the back of our hands, like saying two plus two equals four.

Just me and dad against the world . . . or at least against Diamond Bay, the driest and most boring town on the Eastern side of the Islands. Our house was in the roughest patch of sand anyone would dare to cross in the middle of nowhere. Two miles away from school with no ounce of civilization to stare at, it truly became our own little world that we inhabited.

And we were fine this way, living for ourselves (living every day as if we were already dead).

Dad didn't talk much, just rubbed his eyebrows every now and then. Sometimes I could hear him screaming outside, hitting the back of our house with strange-sounding grunts and swears. As I grew older I found out that it was just a part of his routine, sparring and yelling. Leave it to Zack, the retired kendo master as he put it (though I never saw a single trophy).

I would basically swim through the limbo that was my life and come back home and lock myself in my room. Usually I would just talk to my ceiling, wondering about simple things like why the world was round or why my math teacher had to smell like dog poop.

And sometimes I would ask about my mom. _"Where is she?" "Did she pass away?" "What does she look like?" "Do you think she would have liked me?"_

Yeah, I asked the usual questions, but walls don't talk. And I was fine with that for a while. I liked mysteries and suspense, so I would just write down my questions and answer them in a journal. _She was very beautiful and talented. She passed away one year after I was born. Her hair was as red as a rose and her smile made the sun cry. Liked me? Pfft, she would have loved me._

_She was beautiful, talented, passed away before I was born, has red hair like a rose, she smiled and made the sun cry, she didn't just like me . . ._

_She loved me._

I would close the book and imagine her with a smile before doing my homework.

A couple months later dad started coming home later than normal (is that perfume I smell?). He would smile just a little more and sometimes he would even talk. "Today was a good day," He would say, then he would go back to eating.

I would just nod, ready to get back to our customary silence. I wasn't completely naïve, I knew the signs of love. I just wasn't ready. Wasn't prepared.

It didn't matter though because two weeks later Dad decided that it was time for me to prepare. "I'm bringing someone over. Just be yourself, she's very nice," He said while adjusting his samurai swords in the living room.

I wanted to remind him that he didn't bring friends over. I wanted to remind him that I was always nice (the happy-go-lucky-idiot as some would say in school). I wanted to remind him that once he let this stranger enter our home there was no turning back.

Instead I smiled. "I'm looking forward to it," I said before biting my tongue. I could feel the weight of the journal in my pocket, of the imaginary mother pointing at me accusingly. I never liked lying. The next day I made sure to add accommodating and forgiving to the list.

It was the next day that set the ball rolling. I was waiting in the living room, staring at the blank screen of our TV with anticipation. The door was behind me, and I wanted to be sitting in the couch before they came. Then I could get up slowly and savor the moment, slowly lift my head and meet her eyes. Then I could smile and say "Welcome," like I had rehearsed (ready to open my heart, ready to make myself vulnerable).

After what felt like eons the door opened. "Sora, I'd like you to meet Aerith."

My Dad's voice nearly sent me into a state of shock, almost making me forget my greeting. I stood up, taking extra time to examine the couch and my butt imprints before turning. The first thing I noticed was Aerith. She was petite and small, wearing a flowing pink dress and pink heels. Her eyes were sparkling with excitement and mirth, a world of life and humor expanding from those shining orbs alone. But the most amazing thing about her was that her hair was even redder than the roses that pricked me at school. Her smile didn't just make the sun cry, it made the sun burst. And most importantly, her expressions and posture communicated one thing: Love.

_She's perfect_, is what I wanted to say, but I controled myself. "Welcome to our home."

Her smile widened and her eyes closed with my acceptance. I knew at that moment that I was going to love her, I knew then that she was going to be the perfect mother (at least on the surface).

Her next words almost didn't reach me as she stepped to the side, revealing another guest. "It's very nice to meet you, Sora. Zack has told me so much about you. I'd also like you to meet my son, Roxas."

The boy that was hiding behind her gasped, face a striking red and he glared at her. She returned his hostile gaze with a smile as I took in his features. His hair flowed up and down and sideways, like a blonde tornado. His shirt consisted of black and white stripes that ran together with his black cargo pants. His eyes were the same as his mother, blue and full of emotion (not mirth, far from mirth). What really struck me was the thing he was carrying, a beautiful golden guitar with ten strings.

His presence was unexpected but it didn't bother me. I already had the perfect model of a mother before me, maybe I would be blessed with the perfect brother too.

Zack smiled sheepishly at me, just realizing that he forgot to tell me about Roxas' involvement. Instead, he tapped Roxas on the shoulder, gazing at his instrument with interest. "That's one mighty piece of wood," he said.

Roxas smiled, overcoming his shyness to play a single tune.

It was the start of a love song . . . the love song that would change everything.

* * *

**Note II**

I gasp in **pain** as I finish the first set to the song, panting (breathe, breathe). The house is still as messed up as ever and I hear Roxas moan behind me.

Nothing is fixed, nothing has changed (why does the music have to sound so good? Why when it won't do anything?).

In this one moment I truly **hate** the guitar. My hands tremble, ready to crush the thing into smithereens. Smash the base into the wall, crack it where the hole forms the mouth, break off each string with a snap.

His hand holds me back, Roxas holds me back (finish the song, he wants you to **finish** **it**).

I whine and moan, trying to squirm away from his cold, crimson-stained fingers but his grip is too strong.

I close my eyes and start playing again.

* * *

At fifteen my life is complete. Instead of two plus two equals four, Dad and I have escalated ourselves to the next level. The square root of four equals two, and now that we're part of a whole family it's hard to imagine ourselves as the bachelors we were before.

Aerith is amazing, the women of our dreams. She cooks, cleans, and encourages with a smile. Her intimate demeanor is refreshing for us, and now Dad and I can be open without regrets (we could start living).

However, Roxas is a mystery. He locks himself in his room, scribbles furiously in notebooks (ones that he will never let me see), reads strange books (philosophy maybe?), and always looks angry.

He's one room down the hall but the distance between us couldn't be more vast. It doesn't bother me as much as it should. I had always wished for the perfect mother, not the perfect brother. But I decided that I would at least give him the benefit of trying.

The biggest difference between us surfaces the moment I make the first biggest mistake of my life. I made Aerith cry.

It had been unintentional, an accidental spill of peas strown throughout the kitchen floor. She cried for the family, cried because she wasn't sure that she could make the trip back to town in time for dinner. An overemotional display with a hidden urgency, an insane streak that passed by me unnoticed.

"Don't worry, Mom. I'll buy it." Roxas smiled at us, though his eyes lingered where I stood.

I tried not to flinch under his harsh gaze and whistled. It was one package of peas, I didn't see what the big deal was (didn't think it would be so significant, become the start of a grudge). After five minutes he left and I helped Aerith clean like the nice person I should have been (the person that's a stranger to me now). The gravity of my actions didn't weigh on me until later on in the evening. The alarm blasted in the form of knocking on my old, bent up door. I opened it with a scowl as it happened to interrupt my ritual evening nap. "Wha?" I spluttered incoherently, all cognition scrambled in my tone.

Roxas simply stared at me, eyes cold and calculating. "Dinner is ready."

The prospect of food practically woke me up in the span of five seconds. "Whoa, seriously?! Alright!"

Imagine my surprise and utter shock when Roxas shoved me away from the door, then closed it behind him. He leaned against the door frame, still glaring at me with those cold eyes of his (deadly blue abyss. Always very dangerous). "We need to talk," he said, voice eerily calm.

I missed all the warning signs and body language cues (him struggling not to pounce, staring at me like a predator). At that moment all I could think of was how he was getting in the way of me getting food. "Ah, can't this wait till later?"

"No."

"Darn it! Okay, what is it?"

"Did you apologize?"

"Apologize?" The atmosphere had changed somewhat after that. I knew I had said the wrong thing (always the wrong answer), or at least it wasn't what Roxas wanted to hear. I felt like a criminal, which was stupid. "For what?"

His eyes narrowed and that's when the hair on my back started to twist and turn, standing and leaving me feeling bare and exposed (afraid, coward. I was afraid). I couldn't look him in the face, could barely stand seeing his feet in front of my doorway. I realized vaguely that I was trapped.

I think Roxas sensed my discomfort because his answering smile to my question was the perfect mixture of controlled rage and manipulation. "You made Mom cry," was all he said, but it felt like he was accusing me of murder.

I gasped when I finally recalled what he was talking about. Then, like any good idiot, I laughed. "You mean the peas? Oh, she's over that. We totally bonded while cleaning. Things are cool."

I didn't think my response had been that bad. Not even when he gripped my wrists. Not even when had used my scrambled momentum to shove me against the wall. Not even when his hot breath had rushed against my face when he leaned forward to whisper into my ear.

No, it was his eyes (always the eyes, always those beautiful, deadly eyes).

I trembled when he spoke. "Don't ever make Mom cry again."

I couldn't stop my stupid mouth. "Or what?"

The silence was oppressive and overwhelming. We were both breathing together, air singing sweetly out of our lungs. Except mine was ragged and his was slow, calm. He then tilted his head to the side, his expression incredibly serious. "You want me to show you?"

_Hell, no I don't._ "I want you to let go of me," I muttered, not liking the way he was looking at me, searching me for a weakness. Not liking the nails digging into my shoulders or how close he was to me in general.

When Roxas smile grew wider I knew I was just sinking deeper into the pit. "You didn't answer my question," he notes.

It was too much, the proximity, his accusations . . . I pushed him away, surprising us both. I then stomped towards my door, opening it and heading towards the living room. "Dinner is ready, we wouldn't want Mom to wait for us, right?" I asked, hoping we could just drop the subject.

"Sure." He sounded so happy, so cheerful (he was such a liar).

In my head I was eagerly setting the preparations for my will, it had been a long time since I had felt that scared of another person, let alone a family member. After that, I catalogued his responses and came up with some important information regarding Roxas. Apparently, he knew how to talk, just not when I wanted to. He definitely needed help controlling that temper of his, and the most powerful fact of all . . .

Roxas was a mother's boy. And I could understand that. After waiting for a mother for so long, I understood it. Plus, with a person like Aerith as a mom I knew that I would've done my best to protect her too.

So, I let it slide. Even if Roxas was a little too overprotective (always staring, watching, waiting for me to slip), I thought it was expected. This was what normal families were like, ones that had such excellent mothers like Aerith.

Innocence is both a gift and a curse. As I would soon find out, Aerith wasn't as perfect as I made her out to be.

* * *

**Note III**

It's getting** harder** and harder to play the guitar. My fingers are bleeding from the **strain** as I haven't done this in a while. I apply too much force, I wince every time the face of my finger protests against another searing indent.

Roxas stares at my fingers apathetically, only waiting for sound and sound only (it's the only thing that will reach him now, the only noise that matters to him. My **screams** never mattered, my **pleas** never mattered).

Sometimes I worry about the blood leaking out of us (we're both bleeding, we're both the **same**). The couch will probably be our deathbeds. Our cell phones broke long ago (we smashed each other's) and the regular phones around the house are probably flimsy pieces of metal by now (being thrown around the house, slamming into walls).

I should leave the house, run for help. Get us both to a hospital (no, not him. **Save** yourself. Save **yourself**). But I still can't leave, and it's not Roxas keeping me here this time.

The guitar's **spell restrains** me, holding me in as my memories keep fading into the present. I hate to admit this, but maybe I need the music too.

* * *

Though we were a family we were divided. Eraqus and Sora, Aerith and Roxas, or occasionally a mixture of the groups. Rarely is it ever Eraqus and Aerith or Roxas and Sora, young vs. old. Comical, yes. Practical, not so. Roxas and I had yet to form a bond as brothers, but I still hadn't lost hope. I was still smiling (naive, foolish). I knew things were going to turn around.

After all, the mother of my dreams was here. There was nothing holding Roxas and I back from becoming just that, maybe even more.

So I wrote down what I wanted, how I wanted Roxas and I to change.

_We could play football._

I screamed as Roxas slammed me to the ground. After the first tackle I could barely concentrate on getting the ball without running away when he was five feet from me. A rough-housing sport quickly turned into an unwilling game of cat and mouse.

_Perhaps we should play video games more often._

I would clap and shake his hand when he beat me. I learned quickly that it was better to let him win because when I won he would just get frustrated (and a remote would possibly fly and hit me in the head). So, it became the game of finding creative ways to lose . . . until he found out what I was doing of course.

_Talk about our feelings?_

I once asked Roxas if I could see what he was doodling in his sketchbooks all the time. I was threatened with three different epithets before the door was slammed in my face. I had to resort to cheating, which meant sneaking in the notebooks without Roxas knowing. Let's just say the fight we got into over that even caught Zack's attention.

"We respect each other in this household. Can you boys settle your differences in a peaceful manner?" he asked us, eyebrows raised.

Both Roxas and I stared at each other, an unofficial competition in itself.

Aerith, of course, was the one to save the day. "How about we all have some ice cream? I bought sea-salt."

I immediately started to feel better. "Sea-Salt? That's my favorite!" I was the first one to reach the table, jumping like a child who was already hyped up on sugar and about to get hyped up on more sugar.

Roxas calmly sat next to me and I glared at him, as if daring him to ruin this for me too. Instead, he smiled genuinely. "It's my favorite too."

The moment the sentence left his lips we made the connection. The bond existed and stayed for about three weeks. It was wonderful, amazing (short lived).

But things change (everything changes, especially the pleasant things). Just as a family can be built it can be broken. I learned this when Aerith decided to leave.

* * *

**Note IV**

Roxas is crying now (did he ever really **stop**? Will he ever stop crying?).

I think he's realizing it, he knows that the memories are linked. He probably **misses** Mom (of course he misses Mom. Misses what she has to **offer**. Misses what she can't give him anymore).

It's wrong for me to be jealous, but I can't help the tendrils of dark emotion that burn within me. She was my mother too, but Roxas had always been closer to her.

Though, assuming what I found out about her from Dad, I guess I'm not really surprised.

Sorry, Roxas. This hurts for me too . . . but I have to keep playing. The song isn't over yet, you always played it until it was completed, right?

After all, I'm doing this for you. Mom may not be here, but I'm doing this for you, right? You used to say that I reminded you of her, right? (not a good thing, not a good thing).

Well, we're almost at the end, Roxas. Hold out a little longer (**let me** leave, let me **leave**).

* * *

My parents' divorce had been very subtle. Dad wasn't one to shout and Aerith had the softest voice any woman could ask for. Their disagreements were few and far in between, I never suspected things were turning sour. But then again, I never suspected the fact that Roxas was crazy. I mean, legitimately crazy.

Everyone has their crazy moments, but Roxas' wasn't few and far in between. His temper was still atrocious and he still stared at me like I was meat sometimes (told him to stop, but he wouldn't listen. Said it was a reminder. Roxas never trusted me).

I took pride in my crazy moments (the urge to sneak into his room, to provoke him) because it was the only way I could understand him.

Surely Aerith realized this too, that all humans were inherently crazy. Unfortunately, I guess her brand of craziness was too much for my dad. I was never one to eavesdrop, but I couldn't help myself when the 'perfect' couple's status was threatened.

"You know I'll accept you no matter what lies in your past. We've made a commitment together, you know I'm willing to listen," he said, always reassuring, using few words and probably hugging her to express his loyalty and commitment.

"You wouldn't understand." Aerith always sounded sad when she was disagreeing. "No one ever has, and no one ever will, I'm afraid."

"Don't be."

Well, it turned out that Aerith had a right to worry since Dad wasn't as compromising as everyone expected. I didn't listen in on the rest of their conversation, but now I wish I had. It probably would have made what she did the next day make more sense.

All I can recall was sitting on the couch, extremely nervous and confused while Roxas simply turned into a statue next to me. Though our postures were different we were one in the fear we felt, the apprehension sinking in our pores as Aerith cried in front of us.

"Boys, I'm afraid that your father and I will be separated for a while. We're working many things out, things that will change all of our futures," She had glanced at Roxas discretely when mentioning "futures". "However, in order for us to settle things your father will need some time alone to think. I wish there was another way for this to be done, but I respect your father's wishes. This will be better for us all in the long run." She was still crying but her voice never broke during the speech.

For the first time in my life I wanted to hit something. It wasn't right for this to happen, not right for anyone to allow my once almost-nearly-perfect family to be ripped apart like this.

My reaction was nothing compared to Roxas. "You can't just leave!" I had never seen him express that much emotion. His eyes were as wide as I'd ever seen them, I was close enough to make out the scratchy red veins clouding the corner of his eyes. Sweat ran freely down his pale shock-written face, nearly rivaling a white sheet. I couldn't help scooting away from him, staring numbly at his shaking abs and twitching hands.

Aerith spent the next couple of minutes calming him down, rubbing his shoulders in a placating manner while sending me apologetic glances all the while. She rubbed his shoulders, spoke in soothing tones; I couldn't help but think of her voice as the guitar, that one melody that could put anyone in a trance. It seemed to get through to Roxas; his eyes grew softer, gaze somewhat understanding.

Aerith smiled at him and then she looked at me, as if she had just remembered that she also had to comfort me. At least, that's what I would like to believe. I was her son too after all. Whatever idea prompted the look, she quickly dismissed it. Instead, she turned her head back to Roxas and kissed his trembling lips.

A chaste kiss, it barely lasted a second. Sometimes I think that I might have imagined it, the inappropriate display of affection. I just don't know if it was real or not, but I do know that Roxas had been blushing when Aerith walked out. She closed the door shut without a backward glance at either of us.

The door slam, the reverberating vibration of wood on wood, that's what broke us out of our trance. Roxas ran past me, already in his room by the time I stood up, slaming his door in an echoing embrace of his mother's actions. I sighed and took out my notebook. _Alone again, I might as well write_, I thought.

It was with a strange chill that sent adrenaline up my spine that I turned to give the door one last look. It remained in it's position, only instead the guitar was in front of it. Instead of wrestling with the fact that it had appeared from the couch to by the door, I went into my room, completing the third set of our fractured melody with one final slam of wood on wood.

xxXXXxx

Roxas started playing the guitar a lot more after that. Except there was one fundamental difference with how he played.

He played in the open. And when I say open, I literally mean open. He gave it his all, singing various songs at random. He found his own rhythm, and eventually he would play for hours at a time, mainly from two in the afternoon to five. It didn't matter where he was in the house, even when he was shut in his own room, we could always here his song. From every angle, from every corner of the room the omnipresent notes would ram us into a corner and I would be overwhelmed by the sheer amount of emotion involved.

I hated it. Not because he was bad, mind you. I hated it because it was the only time I could truly see, truly understand the way his mind worked. It didn't matter if he shut me out, it didn't matter if he would never share his sorrows with me when we talked, or all the times he locked me out of his room. In that one moment, when his hands flew past the strings, I knew everything. All the pain, agony, rage, grief . . . it was all rolled into that one song.

Roxas' song. A love song. He was being honest for once through music. I couldn't deal with that, I couldn't _hide_ from that. I could always hear his story, the melodies leaking through the cracks I tried to plug up from under the door. His story, a sad story full of misunderstanding.

I still didn't know everything about Roxas' past, and I didn't want to. The song was enough.

* * *

**Note V**

And the song still isn't done. My fingers are bleeding now, firm from the strain and adrenaline fueling the fires of sound.

Sweat drips down my face as I concentrate, and now as I watch my fingers move I remember that I don't know how to play the guitar.

How is this happening (is this Roxas? Is he . . . is this a **part** of his story? His soul coming **into** me?)?

(I don't **want** this. I **don't** want any part of **him** in me.)

But, I can't stop playing (I can't stop, can't stop. Why won't it stop? Let me stop, Roxas. Please, let me stop).

Something else wet is sliding down my face (sliding as he continues to go into me).

It takes me **forever** to realize that they are my own tears.

* * *

Sometimes I despised the fact that I had to be gifted with the talents of the pen. No, I couldn't have huge muscles or join any sports, I was maintaining a B+ average at best in my favorite subjects, and you can pretty much shoot me in the foot because that's the sound I make when speaking in public.

But hey, give me paper and a pencil and I will give you a reading experience that will stay within your soul, a stirring emotion that can come only from the comfort of eyes scanning over elegant structures of letters.

Well, at least that's the point of it all. To carry the depths and emotions, create a world that is still attainable, something deep enough to make up for the senses it lacks. The one time my father payed attention to me was through my writing, which isn't a good thing.

No, he had an intriguing idea for my talents, an idea I should have refused. It was during one such evening, as Roxas sang his life away, that he came into my room, face pale with conviction. "Sora . . ."

I looked up from writing in my journal and looked at him expectantly. "Yeah?" I asked.

He sat next to me on the bed, eyes hollow. "There's something you need to know about . . . about Aerith."

"About Mom?" I raised an eyebrow.

"Yes, I . . . I should have been . . . I should have told you about this earlier."

"What?"

He stared at his fingers then handed me a piece of paper. "I need you to help me with a piece of this letter. It's important."

I took the paper with heavy hands. "This is mom's handwriting."

"That's right. Can you copy it?"

My eyes widened. "W-what?"

"Sora, I need you to write a letter to Roxas." I could tell from his posture that he was serious about it. He really wanted me to impersonate Mom.

"Dad-"

"She committed suicide," he said flatly, cutting me off. Then he turned away, eyes dull and pale. "Aerith committed suicide. I found out about a week ago."

I shifted my hands back, pressing myself against the bed rest. I couldn't breathe, could barely control the chills going down my spine. Zack shook me, and I could literally feel the force pushing against my bones. "Sora, listen to me. I can't tell Roxas yet, alright? Give me some time, I need more time, are you getting this?"

"She-She's . . . She's . . ." My voice broke off and I moaned.

"Can you do this, Sora, for him? At least until I work up the speech I'm going to tell him so that he doesn't freak out?"

I blinked then shook my head forward in a nodding motion slowly, clutching my journal tightly with my nails. He told me that I would only have to write one letter. He said it would be a one-time thing. One letter turned into three letters, then three turned into five.

Two freaking months with a dead mother and a bleeding pen and Roxas never suspected a thing.

xxXXxx

One day I came home to a silent house. I'd just got back from the supermarket. I scowled at the guitar leaning against the couch. My feet creaked against the wood and I hated the quiet, the silence. I turned my head, seeing Roxas staring apathetically at the TV. It was off, black and empty. He stared at it, eyes unfocused.

"Roxas? Hey, whatcha doing?" I asked.

Silence. He didn't even glance at me.

_Well, so much for that._ I shook my head, then headed towards my dad's office. The first thing that hit me was the smell. An acrid stench that held strings of metallic and fleshy presence. I resisted the urge to throw up and pushed the door open wider.

The room was chaos. Books were thrown astray, papers scattered everywhere. Specks of blood were painted against the lower areas of the bookshelf, red contrasting against black.

I walked around the desk, wincing at the splotching sound my heel made in a small pool of blood. I reached out, fingering the sword sticking out between my father's ribs. A dark trail of crimson flowed down his chest, soaking his lap and running down his thighs. It had been a recent death.

Slowly, ever so slowly I lifted his head. Thankfully, his eyes were closed, but his mouth opened in a wordless scream, face frozen in an expression of pain. I dropped my hand, covered my own mouth, leaned forward, and fought to control the bile. My stomach twitched with the effort and I could feel my vision disappearing as hot tears scorched my fingers and cheeks. I ran, ran out of the room holding my breath the whole time, ignoring the way Roxas' head snapped up toward me, how his eyes bored into me, the way his bloody hands-

_Oh. My. God._ I barely reached the toilet and sprung it open. The harsh, acidic fluids burst from my mouth, sending me into a spasm and I clutched the filthy bowl, crying and wretching. _My dad . . . he's . . . no._

_How could this happen? Who would do such a thing?_

_Roxas. His hands were bloody, he seemed weird coming in . . . oh . . ._

_He wouldn't. He got along with Dad._

_But . . . I guess he couldn't handle the news of Mom's death . . ._

_No! He wouldn't do this!_

I groaned and stood up straight, moving to face the doorway. Roxas stared back at me, literally five feet away.

We both blinked at each other.

Then I screamed.

Roxas didn't do or say anything, just stood there in the doorway. After a good five minutes of torturing my throat I back away towards the bathtub. "God . . . oh god . . . " is what escapes from my mouth. I started coughing.

Roxas crossed his arms. "You done yet?"

"Murder. You're a murderer!" I tripped over the bathtub, hitting my head against the wall. My hands scrambled to support myself, and I pushed away from him even though there was no space to move.

He reached towards me, grabbing my arm. I start screaming again, though it sounded more like rusted croaks as he dragged me out of the bathtub, not relenting even when I yelped as my back struck the doorway. I started shouting random things, words that didn't make sense, illiterate phrases. My mouth foamed with panic and insults, while my free hand got scratched up. My nails drilled into the ground. _Anything to stop him, anything to stop him._

I kicked my legs out as he brought me up by the throat. Then he slammed me into the couch, hands digging into my shoulders, pressing me in further. I'm somehow still able to scream and resort to shoving my knees up, but he used his body to block my weak attempts at escape, it was futile on my part. _Dammit! We just have to be so far from town where no one can freaking hear me!_

I avoided his gaze and started to cry, shaking and breathing in through gut bursting sobs. _He hasn't moved, what will happen if he doesn't move? __Too much! Kill me already, please!_ It took a lot of strength but I looked up, eyes blurry from tears. I couldn't see his face, couldn't see anything but a vague area of yellow and blue. Then he raised his hand. I closed my eyes, waiting.

The hand wraps around the base of my neck, harshly pulling my face forward. I gasped briefly before his lips smashed against mine. I'm shocked and the unexpected contact sends a painful spike into my face.

_This isn't something a brother does. This isn't something anybody does._

I tried to blink away the tears so that I could see, but the water kept everything confined in wiggle outlines. All I could do was sit there, numbly aware as Roxas' lips massaged my mouth. He pulled away and wiped at my face, strong fingers lingering near my cheeks. I opened my eyes wider and stared at him. He stared back, expression somewhat nonchalant but his eyes were cold and guarded.

"You done now?" he asked again.

The sound of his voice made me shiver. I swallowed and looked down, not saying anything. The silence only pointed to the fact that death had visited my house. I was too scared to break it, too scared to even stand up from the couch. I turned my head down more, staring at his feet, flinching at the spots of red patching his skin.

"Sora . . . " He sighed. "I need you to listen to me, alright? You can hate me after this, but for now . . . now I need you to understand."

My head snapped up at the end of his sentence and I growled. "There's nothing to understand! You _killed_ my dad!"

Roxas raised an eyebrow at me. "He's _our_ father, Sora. I'm a part of this family too."

"A part of this family? You're a liar and a murderer!"

Roxas' eyes narrowed. "Sora, he's not the man you think he is!"

"Whatever the hell that means!" I was angry enough by that point to stand, to stomp over towards him and jab an accusing finger at his chest. "Do you understand?! You. Killed. Him! You are not my brother! You will_ never_ be my brother!"

Roxas wasn't intimidated at all by my poking or my close proximity. But his blue eyes burned brightly against his pale face, full of hurt and agony. "Stop, Sora . . . "

"Stop, you want me to stop?! Why didn't you stop yourself, huh?! Why can't you control your stupid temper?!"

"You're the one yelling right now, Sora." He gave me a cold smile.

"Shut up!" It's like I'm disconnected from my body when my hand strikes, connecting with Roxas jaw instead of my mind. The slap pounded like thunder in my ears. His head moved to the side, a disjointed motion. I gasped at my hand, pulling it back immediately. _What am I doing? I can't take Roxas in a fight. Ugh, stupid!_

As my mind went crazy Roxas slowly turned his head back toward me. He had a huge smile on his face.

_What is he smiling for? I just hit him._ I backed away but he gripped me again, throwing me to the ground. My hands scrambled around, seeking escape from his hands that pinned my back to the floor. He sat on top of me, holding me in a strange headlock. He grabbed my hair, pulling me up fast. I screamed from the force only to stop when he slammed my face against the wall. The tears came back with a vengeance, washing my face in fresh coats of terror as he leaned over me. His strong hands held my shoulders against the wall, leaving me in an awkward sitting position. It hurt to breathe, it kept seizing my chest in unstoppable tremors as he got closer, face a few centimeters away from mine.

My heart hammered relentlessly at my chest while his lips barely touched mine. "No," I muttered, voice weak and strained. My plea came out like a frog's dying croak since my throat was still sore from the screaming I had done earlier.

Roxas' lips twisted into a small, crooked smile. He then roughly brought me forward with one hand behind my head, forcing me into the left side of his neck. I felt air rushing out of his mouth into my ear. His chuckles made me want to move away, but I already knew it was impossible.

"Sora, I'm not going to hurt you," he said knowingly. His hand released my neck but he then maneuvered it so that he had an arm over my shoulder. Basically, I still couldn't move at all.

I bit into my bottom lip before whispering, "You hurt Dad . . . "

He sighed into my ear, voice soft as he rubbed his freehand through my hair. "I had no choice, Sora. He had to die, I'm sorry. But that's the simple truth."

I wanted to just stab him at that moment. I was even more angry with myself though, because I knew I was too scared to even attempt a simple punch from this distance. So I settled for a question. "Why?"

He stopped playing with my hair for a second, body rigid and firm. He then relaxed, moving his hand though his voice sounded deeper, more serious. "Because he manipulated us. He lied about Mom's disappearance." He finally allowed me to sit up on my own, looking me straight in the face with hot blue eyes. "She's dead, Sora. She's been dead for _months_. And . . . Dad didn't tell us a thing."

My eyes widened._ Oh . . . Oh . . ._ "R-Roxas . . ?"

Roxas held a finger up, interrupting. "That's not even the worst of it, Sora." He took in a deep breath and I could see his muscles ripple underneath his shirt. "How do you think I found out? How do you think I realized she wasn't the person responding to my letters?"

I swallowed. "H-How did you know?"

Roxas eyes narrowed and I tried my best not to flinch away. "In the last letter I said something . . . something that she didn't respond directly to. Something she had never ignored outright before. I caught Dad messing with the mail one night when I couldn't fall asleep. Earlier today I confronted him with one of his samurai swords. He showed me _everything_, Sora."

He closed his eyes, shuddering slightly. He looked like he was trying to hold back, trying not to let something else take over. Like a demented man fighting off a possessive demon. His expression almost made me miss what he said next. "A man who does that . . . who impersonates his own ex just to mess with his son's emotions," his eyes were blazing when he opened them again, "you can't fuckin' trust a guy like that!"

I was shaking even worse than before, mouth wide open. I couldn't say anything, I had no retorts handy. Dad didn't tell him about who wrote the letters.

He didn't tell Roxas about me.

I continued to shake as Roxas spoke again after a few minutes, smoothing my hair. "Hey, stop that. Don't cry now." He rolled his eyes before hugging me to his chest. "I'll keep you safe, you won't have to worry about anything anymore." He pulled my face back and stared at me.

I blinked back tears, trying to breathe in properly though my nose was stuffed now. I felt a spasm as I saw Roxas twitch, hands gripping me harder than what was necessary. Then, as if he were being watched by some third party, he gave me a quick, timid kiss on the lips.

I immediately started bawling after the touch while his guitar sat in the corner peacefully, for once not being played at this hour.

* * *

**Note VI**

The song is done.

My red fingers drop by my side and I take in a huge breath that rattles my injured ribs.

The song is done.

Roxas' tears have dried up and now he looks like he's sleeping, enjoying a dream as his stomach barely moves next to me, body still coated in specks of blood from his matty blonde hair to his red sides.

The song is done.

So why does** music** still** reach** my ears? Why do the stream of memories keep coming back to haunt me?

I'm drowning in a sea of sound and memories, never-ending images . . .

I look at my fingers and I'm not surprised to see my dirty, bloody nails on the strings. I'm still playing the guitar. Did I ever stop?

Will . . . will I ever stop?

* * *

It's unbelievable, not even remotely possible for any normal family out there.

Somehow, life had managed to continue. The days kept passing, leaving me encased in a bitter prison of shame. There were two reasons why I couldn't leave.

Reason one: the issue of my father's death. I still hadn't gotten rid of his corpse. Roxas refused to touch him and my courage kept going away every time I approached his office with a shovel. Sometimes it was just easier to forget. Forget his death, forget his face frozen in terror, sword stabbed through his upper stomach, through bone. The smell was the only reminder, and soon that disappeared too when Roxas filled the space underneath the door with some type of powder-like dough. Needless to say, soon the smell was gone and in pitiful cowardice I avoided his office.

Reason two: Roxas. I played a hand in his insanity, in his act of revenge. I had been an accomplice to Dad's skewed ideas to ease Roxas out of grief. But we screwed up and my dad took the blame. It wasn't right, it wasn't fair for him to take it all on his own. So I decided to stay and dedicate the rest of my life to supporting and curing Roxas. It was a suicidal mission, but some small part of me believed that I could change him.

And he entertained this flimsy dream.

It turned out that he did have some hidden softer side. Three days after the small fight we had, Roxas was understanding, polite, loyal . . . he wouldn't let me out of his sight. I felt grateful, relieved even, throughout the talks we shared. When we went out to play sports he was extremely gentle, I almost felt safe. When we watched TV I found myself laughing with him and sometimes it could even turn into a tickling fight, though he always went easy on me and stopped if I was laughing too hard.

But it was never enough. We both knew the truth. Certain lines had been crossed and since neither of us ever addressed anything directly it left a chasm. A void.

I could see it every time I looked at Roxas. The lingering stares, his strange lapses, stuttering . . . it was like I was a fulltime psychologist and he was the willing patient. Except I had no idea what the solution was to Roxas' condition, and he sure as hell wasn't going to open up and tell me.

There were some clues, little behavior cues that displayed a pattern.

Roxas had built a routine; a subtle plan for each day that I didn't notice until recently. He always had to be the one to cook. He placed his shoes by the front door in the morning then took them back to his room at night. He walked me to school and told me to keep up my grades even though he had quit the day after Dad died. He started doing things in sets of four, whether it be setting the table in four steps, repeating something four times, tapping his feet in beats of four . . .

He stopped playing the guitar.

Out of everything, the absence of music freaked me out the most. When the house descended into silence outside of our voices I knew that Aerith's death still impacted Roxas, and he was doing everything he could to avoid thinking about it.

The more I thought about Mom and the role I had in Dad's demise the longer I pushed the topic off. In the end, it was Roxas who made me decide. Or, to be more precise, it was his words.

**Entry 1**

**It's getting worse, right, Mom? You're still acting as desperate as you did before you were married. I guess in the end I always knew this wouldn't change anything.**

**But you said this was the last time. What does that mean for us? Because you said that to me once before, and here I am now still doing what you tell me to do. As usual.**

**Entry 2**

**Sora is very strange. Queer. Weird. Rude.**

**Innocent.**

**He looks up to you so much, Mom. I hope, for his sake, you don't ruin that trust. Goodness knows you lost mine a long time ago.**

**But, I'm still here. I still love you, Mom. Nothing has changed. Nothing at all.**

**Entry 15**

**Why are you still like this, Mom? Why are you still doing this? Why won't this stupid curse go away?**

**No, you never called it that. Depression. You said it was just something mental. A phase.**

**Well, you've been stuck in it for years. Why did you marry this strange man if you knew it wouldn't change anything? What was the point of any of the guys who we let in our lives?**

**You don't look to them for comfort. You come to me. You've always come to me. Did you really forget that? Why am I the only one who realizes this?**

**Entry 16**

**I ask too many questions. Right Mom?**

**Still love you.**

I flipped to page fifty of the notebook. The handwriting had gotten notably messier.

**Entry 41**

**So . . . you left. You told me the truth, then you left. You left me with it.**

**How could you do that? Why would you leave me with it? You said I was safe from the curse, but I'm not so sure. I told you about those weird feelings, I told you how I felt about what we were doing. It changed, Mom. I started enjoying it. It's horrible, I feel so horrible.**

**But, Mom, you left me . . . you left me with the guitar. What does that mean?**

**Entry 42**

**Oh, I understand now. You wanted to escape. You left without me though. You left me behind to suffer alone.**

**Big mistake, Mom. I'm going to find you. I won't suffer under your decisions anymore, I'm not carrying that. No. Not anymore.**

**I still love you though.**

**Entry 43**

**Your letters are strange. You sound so . . . empty.**

**What a funny way to respond to your own son. You should know better, Mom. You're not like this at all, especially at night.**

**We both know the truth. We both know what's been going on. So, why hide anything in your words? It's already been done. You can't change that.**

**And despite that . . . despite all the things you did, I still love you. Crazy, right?**

**Well . . . maybe I am.**

**Entry 44**

**You're dead. You killed yourself.**

**How selfish of you. But, to be honest, that actually doesn't surprise me. I'm starting to realize that you've been playing with me all along. Well, you certainly had your fun, didn't you?**

**And I guess . . . I did too.**

**You died and now I'm crazy. I killed Zack for you, you know, so that you could have someone to rest in Hell with. Awww, don't look at me like that, Mom. He deserved it, he was never trustworthy. No one was, not enough for you. Though, I don't think you even know what "trustworthy" means.**

**No. You don't. You just wanted to have fun, am I wrong?**

**Well, I'm glad you had fun. I really hoped you enjoyed yourself. I sort of did.**

**But now that you're gone, who am I going to have fun with, Mom?**

**Entry 45**

**Whoa . . . I just realized something.**

**I killed Zack. I killed Dad.**

**Oh, Mom, Sora is going to be so mad at me. He'll be scared too, so very, very scared.**

**You should see the smile on my face, Mom. After all, we understand. Right, Mom?**

**I finally get to have fun now.**

I dropped the book, shaking violently. His words were scarring me, sending me in a crazy storm of doubts and disbelief. Aerith had been hiding something, something dealing with Roxas and her. She must have had the courage to tell my dad, but he didn't accept it. That's why she left. It was all making sense.

All a little too late. It was a slap in the face. It didn't make any sense, but it revealed some obvious truths, the few truths that had passed me.

Roxas was un-curable, and the source of it was the guitar. I could now connect all the anxious moments I had when Roxas had been playing his music; the hypnotic tunes were unbearable but eventually irresistible. It explained why I couldn't fathom not hearing it, even at that moment.

Aerith and Roxas were cursed because of it. It rattled in my brain, making me want to slam my head through the wall. It didn't sound right, I didn't think I fully understood it, but I knew deep down that there had to be truth to it. Their behavior pointed to something supernatural, and a curse was easier for me to believe.

Or maybe it had been Roxas' condition speaking. Maybe they were just an abnormal family with relationship issues.

My mind couldn't process anything at that point. I was just staring at the notebook under my feet, shuddering every few seconds. When a pale hand reached for it I nearly jumped in fright, lifting my head up only to meet Roxas' penetrating stare. "You," I mumbled.

Roxas smiled at me sweetly while flipping through his notebook. "Hey, Sora." He flipped to where I had left off, chuckling. "I thought I told you not to look at my stuff." Even though he was smiling and speaking calmly I knew he was pissed.

"You've said it many times," I said. Fear made my voice squeak at the end.

"Right. You have bad ears or what?" He dropped the book in a similar way to how I had earlier then kicked it underneath his bed. "You're doubting everything you've ever known about Mom now, aren't you?"

I swallowed and looked at the ground. "She never was my mother to begin with," I muttered truthfully. "All she cared about was you, right? But then again, she didn't even truly do that right, huh?" I don't know where I found the courage to speak up that way, but it only accelerated my heart beat.

Roxas' smile only grew though his eyes hardened. "And now all your trust in me has shattered, yes?"

I gave him a shaky smile in return. He laughed and grabbed my shoulders, leaning towards me. "I never trusted you either." He moved even closer, whispering in my ear. "I know what you did to help Dad. I knew all along, Sora."

I wanted to bash my head against a pole as my breath hitched in the back of my throat. My hands were clenched into fists and I felt tears forming. "Roxas . . . please. I didn't want to, please . . . "

He simply chuckled, wiping at my tears before they could fall down my face. "Doesn't it suck when your own parents force you to do something cruel? Maybe even inhuman?" He let his hand slide down my cheek. "Oh, but I'm not mad. Far from it. In fact, now that all the formalities are out of the way, it just means I get to have fun now."

My eyes widened right as he kissed me harshly. I felt his tongue move against my bottom lip before entering my mouth. His hands worked rapidly, unzipping my pants. I felt the back of his bed hit my shins and I tripped, falling right into the middle of it.

He easily pinned me there, eyes blazing. "It hurts less if you play along, Sora." He started kissing up my jaw and I shook even more.

I pushed against him, maneuvering one arm out and punched him. His right cheek was red when he turned his head back towards me, but he only looked more amused than before. "Oh, so you want to fight through it, huh?" He made a tsking sound before tying sharp coils to my wrists, then tying my hands to the bed frame. "Don't say I didn't warn you, it's going to hurt a little more now." He grinned sheepishly at me. "But, what can you do?"

I spluttered in shock. Part of me couldn't believe that any of it was happening. "What do you want with me?" I shouted, more to have something to say to distract myself from the way he was smirking at my body. I tugged on my restraints and yelped instantly when I felt the wire cut back against me.

"Isn't it obvious?" His grin had turned back into a smirk. "I'm not going to spell it out for you, Sora. Besides, it ruins the surprise for you if I tell you everything I'm going to do." He chuckled darkly, moving a hand into my pants. "I want this to be absolutely perfect for you."

I grunted, closing my eyes shut. Then I sucked in a deep breath and kicked him. He caught my foot in mid air. "Really? That's going to cost you." He punched me right in the stomach and I coughed, gasping upon contact as the wind was knocked out of me. "Still want to fight back?"

I could feel the blood running down my arms as I struggled. "Let me go, Roxas."

"Oh, but I'm not done yet." He had my pants halfway down now. He fingered my underwear with a curious expression. "Try to relax."

I licked my lips once then gasped as his hands roughly pulled my boxers away, leaving me exposed. I chanted weird phrases in my head, muttering and shaking my head wildly, doing whatever I could to distract myself.

But he was touching me. Those cold hands were stroking up and down and squeezing and . . . no! I bit into my bottom lip, moaning and shaking. "Ngh . . . Roxas . . . stop . . . " I couldn't even speak as he got rougher with it, massaging all over. I turned my head away, flinching at how fast I was hardening and-

"Wow . . . that was fast." Roxas snickered, wiping his hands against my inner thighs which were already wet. "Nice work."

"Leave me alone," I muttered, though my voice was cracked and light, still mixed in with my labored pants. I felt chills in my exposed legs and midsection and my arms were already sore from the position they were tied in. "Leave me alone."

Roxas looked almost sympathetic. "We haven't even reached the best part yet." He brings his hands up, getting his shirt off in one motion. I backed away as much as I could from him when I noticed that he already had his pants off, but the distance between us was minimal at best and the whole movement only served to scratch my wrists up in the process. I closed my eyes tightly as his hand runs up my thigh, pushing my leg up. He grabbed my other leg and pushes it up, holding both my legs up in the air.

He grunted. "You know, this would have been so much easier if you hadn't resisted earlier. Now I have to do all of this the hard way." He chuckled darkly. "I'm probably going to mess up. I haven't done this with a guy before."

"Shut up and get it over with," I muttered. My voice sounded dead to my ears and my body shook harder than before, as if five snakes were slithering across my stomach.

This only brought in more laughs before he lifted my legs up a little more. He positioned my legs into one hand while sticking two fingers into my anus. My eyes snapped open and I bit hard into my bottom lip.

He continued pushing with his fingers, then he pulled them out. I watched and felt the horror rise into my stomach as he smirked and hooked my legs over his shoulders, using his hands to keep my waist steady. "This . . . is going to be very painful."

I just stared back at him. I wanted to close my eyes again, wanted to shield myself from seeing what would happen next. But . . . for some reason I couldn't that time. It seemed like the only defiant thing I could do was watch him work, watch him destroy me in his special way. I was able to keep that promise for the first couple of minutes. I saw him smiling at me but his eyes weren't lively at all. They were just . . . dead. At that moment I realized that he wasn't really looking at me anymore. In his head he wasn't doing this to me, he was doing it to someone else.

Well, it made me feel somewhat better . . . until my insides screamed in agony as something long and hard entered deep, filling up a hole inside me in such an unnatural way that my body stiffened. To say it hurt would be a vast understatement. My eyes closed against my will as I screamed, screamed while my mind and body were torn. Tearing, cracking, crashing, it was a neverending push and pull motion that battered against me. My screams turned into wretched bouts of sobbing and moaning, horrible moaning. Strained, tension filled moans that stretched my throat. It didn't sound like me, I couldn't recognize my own voice.

Roxas' was moaning too, but it sounded more controlled. The thrusting by itself was hell, but he had to hurt me more. He wasn't satisfied with my screams, his nails attested to that as they stripped long, deep lines into my sides and legs. The blood flowed, an outside representation of what was happening to me on the inside. It was more to scream over, but I didn't have the strength to even do that. My arms were tense and shaking above my head, but that was it. My bruised bottom was the only thing I could sense, all the other extra damage outside was just a numb discomfort. Nothing but the push now, the hard thrusts. _How deep is he going to go?_ Was my last coherent thought before I felt myself slowly dying, slowly falling limp in the bed. The shaking in me stopped and I opened tear stained eyes to the ceiling.

I'm not sure how long I layed there like that, staring off into space, but eventually he pushed my feet off his shoulders, setting them on the bed. I shifted my gaze towards him, watching as he massaged his own penis. There was a light layer of purple blotched skin littering his hips. I caught his eyes next, they had the same dead look as earlier but there was a hint of a spark this time. "Huh . . . I think I understand now," he said absently. He smiled slowly to himself and I looked away.

He chuckled lightly then rolled over onto me, hugging my chest, laying his head just under my chin. "There was something strangely . . . beautiful about it."

I didn't say anything, I was already half gone. Any energy that I had was consumed by screaming and shock, now all I could do was wait calmly for sleep as he rubbed my chest with wet fingers (blood?), still muttering about how he understood everything.

xxXXXXxx

I stared at the water. Hot, warm water. Supposed to be relaxing, but I'm all wired up. It wasn't easy, ignoring what had happened. It was almost easy to imagine the possibility though, when I woke up in a clean bed, wrapped wrists, bandages riddled along my rib cage. But . . . I also felt empty. Everything had changed, and now . . . I wanted to take that feeling back. The only tearing of anything would be from me and me alone.

So, the water. First step. I had everything planned. The bathroom door was locked and even if he tried to break in it would have been too late.

Water. First step. Now, I had to implement the second part.

I grabbed the tool I set aside specifically in the corner and worked quickly. Efficiently. The water pulled at my bruises and I winced lightly while I worked. It was hurting more than I thought it would, but when I thought of the tearing and Roxas' arousal I worked even faster. It didn't matter how much anything hurt anymore.

I set the razor aside, watching the blood rimmed edges speckle the side of the bathtub. It was a sign of how rough I had been, but I dismissed it. Again, did it matter?

Third step. I set my hands into the water, watching apathetically as an uneven red mist spread throughout my waist. I watched apathetically as the blood's tendrils reached the far side of the bathtub. Yeah, I thought, I was rough alright.

The water continued morphing. It was a little unsettling how fast the color spread. Red, so much red everywhere. But . . . it also calmed me.

_I'm ready._ I took in a deep breath and sat there, waiting. Slowly, I felt the heat draining away from my body. I blinked once and licked my lips, staring at the red in my bath and counting down slowly from 100. I lost count after I dropped below 70. The energy was flowing out of my cuts, joining the flow of the water. I knew I was on the verge of passing out. I welcomed it, I thrived in the knowledge that it would all be over soon.

And then I started singing.

Low at first, but in the beat of a few minutes I was producing sounds from vocals I never knew I had. A nice soft, baritone. I wasn't too bad. But the light, almost euphoric feeling left when I realized what I was singing. The song was familiar . . . because I had heard it played countless times. This was Roxas' song.

"I'll never let you go, through the depths of time, I'll never leave you.

Some may say I'm crazy for staying but I can't turn my back on you.

Lust, crime, scream, cry, those who don't understand try to run and hide.

But no matter what their excuse may be, they soon realize they can't turn from me.

Though our bonds may be impure they're sure to last.

Because, though death may come knocking, I'll never leave you."

I forgot which part of the song it was. Whether it be the beginning, the middle, or perhaps it was just part of the refrain. What mattered was that the notes were undeniably his, undeniably from his guitar. I shivered once then realized I shouldn't have been aware enough to have tremors coursing through my body at all. My eyes widened and I lifted my hands out of the water. My wrists were perfectly pale except for this red ring that ensnared around the skin in bangle-like formations. It looked like the faint aftermath of a rash, nothing like the damage I had caused a few moments before.

My body heat returned a second later and I felt my face flush. With anger or embarrassment, I don't know. I was still sitting in a bathtub full of my blood and I was still alive. I felt a part of myself shutdown as I pinched the pink areas of my wrist. It didn't even hurt anymore.

I tilted my head back, thought of the song, then screamed at the top of my lungs.

* * *

**Note VII**

Now I know why I can't stop playing.

The song . . . it's **healing** me.

I've always **hated** that, even if this is only the second time it's happened. Still.

But . . . Roxas isn't healing. He's not going to get better (not moving). What should I do? What can I do?

No. I already know what to do. Roxas told me what **option** was left for me, but I don't want it. I don't need it! So I'm not doing it.

(Can't do it. Scared of it. Scared of what that will mean for me. For the **victim**)

But . . . this one memory is nice. It isn't too far . . . isn't separate from what I'm feeling now (the fight. Our one last chance).

(A chance we didn't **deserve**)

I like this memory . . . I like it a lot.

* * *

I walked into the kitchen without making a sound. He was standing by the stove, humming to himself. I could hear the grease screaming from the pan, clattering and flying off as he flipped whatever he was cooking. I tilted my head at the sight. I couldn't comprehend it. This version of Roxas wasn't the real Roxas. He wasn't really like this.

_Why act now when the deed has already been done?_ I didn't spend a lot of time mulling over my thoughts. Instead, I waited until the grease popped before silently pulling out one of the kitchen knives and inserting a replacement in it's holder quickly. I stuffed the knife inside my shirt by my back. It hurt, but again I was barely aware. Pain didn't matter to me anymore.

Roxas paused in his humming (thank goodness it wasn't his song) before he turned towards me. His eyes were what I expected them to be. Unfocused. Dead. This was the Roxas I knew, and his smile almost took away from that. "You're up early," he said casually.

I didn't say anything. I just stood there, staring. I tried to impersonate his "dead" eyes, the unfocused look. His murderous look. He blinked once then went back to being a cook. "Guess you must be pretty hungry then. It will be ready in a few, so don't worry."

When I didn't respond his muscles flexed briefly under his shirt but his voice was still light and calm when he said, "Sora, just go sit somewhere."

I thought about my options. I thought about spilling his blood on the kitchen tiles. I thought about the food. After a long thirty seconds I decided I could eat before doing what I had to. I turned and stiffly forced myself towards the living room table, taking care not to sit in a way that would make the knife in my shirt dig deeper into my back (not that the pain mattered, but I couldn't have myself bleeding all over from the back. Suspicious). True to his word, Roxas brought out the food in five minutes time and set it in front of me. I stared at the eggs for a long time. I imagined that they were his brain. I giggled.

"So, you're alive."

I immediately brought my head up, eyes narrowing at his choice of words. _Alive . . ._

Roxas smirked and shook his head, cutting into his omelet. "What? Stop acting so surprised every time I speak to you. Not like there's anyone else here."

I blinked once then twisted my knife into the eggs, pushing hard enough that I was practically scraping into the plate. After a few seconds of mentally ripping through his brain, I stuffed the eggs into my mouth.

"You're going to burn yourself," he said nonchalantly. His tone didn't match his smile.

I rolled the food around in my mouth before twisting through the eggs again, letting the heat blister my mouth a while before swallowing the stuff. I smiled innocently at him. "What? This is really good." I almost surprised myself with how normal I sounded. The pride was worth the burns.

Roxas chuckled once. "Still though, it's cool that you're alive isn't it? I mean, just think of all the stuff you're could have missed. Get me? You're just too young to go."

"Right." Somehow he knew about my suicide attempt. I didn't really care how he knew but it was interesting. I swallowed and scraped at the plate with my fork. "So . . . It's like I'm immortal, basically?"

Roxas had this maniac gleam in his eyes. He looked like a demon. I smiled at how true the comparison was. "More or less. Well, actually no."

"No?"

"No. It's all in the art of passage. Depending on what rituals you participate in you come out just as banged up as the next." He shrugged. "It all depends on the person really."

_Is he talking about the guitar? The curse?_ I tried to convince myself that I didn't care but I still asked anyway. "So, these rituals . . . it always revolves around a theme or what?"

Roxas laughed so hard I thought he was going to choke on air or something. I was sort of disappointed when he didn't. "Nah, it's not like that. You don't get to know what the ritual is until it's sung."

"What?" I nearly swallowed something down the wrong pipe and started drinking from my water.

"It's what I said. _He_ sings the ritual to you. It's something only you will understand." Roxas grinned. "Once that happens it's up to you whether you want to live with the music or pass it on."

I thought hard about that for a moment then tilted my head. "What did you choose?"

"I chose what I thought was best for me." He stuffed his mouth.

"I see . . . "

His stare quickly turned menacing, a predatory glance. "You would have done the same thing." He smirked. "You're prepared to do whatever the hell you want now and nothing is compelling you to do so. You're a monster all by yourself."

"I'm the monster." I smiled slowly. "If I'm a monster you're something worse."

He blinked once. "You're in an odd mood today." He wiped his mouth and stood up. I stood up as well, even though I wasn't done with my food. He raised a single eyebrow at me.

I took in a deep breath and yelled at the top of my lungs. I could feel it rattling in my throat and out of my mouth (the burns were worse than I thought) and Roxas covered his ears, glaring at me as his plate crashed into the ground. I paid it no mind as I leaped onto the table, ran across it, and tackled Roxas to the ground. We struggled for a few seconds and then I remembered one of the few martial art techniques Dad taught me and slammed my knee into Roxas' stomach. The breath was knocked out of him and he coughed violently, spitting up saliva and some blood. But when he was done coughing he just smiled at me.

_That stupid, damn, freaking grin._ I tried to control my breathing as my vision turned red and then I punched Roxas' hard. His head snapped to the side but I kept punching him repeatedly, but avoided his neck. No, I wasn't going to end it that quickly. He had to go through hell, he needed to suffer for as long as I did.

I brought out the knife and turned him around, roughly slamming him into the floor and straddling him from behind so that he couldn't move. When I felt him squirm a deep sense of satisfaction came over me. I reveled in the power I had at that moment and pushed his shoulder down. "How does it feel, Roxas?" I said in a mockingly sweet tone. I had waited so long to mimic his evil voice. "I bet this feels really nice for you, doesn't it?"

He didn't say anything, but he stopped struggling. I frowned. I expected more of a fight then that. I tested his reflexes, nipping him on the back of his ear with the knife before carving a line from his neck to the base of his right shoulder, drawing blood. He winced beneath me, shaking for just a quick second and I smirked. "Awww, did that hurt?" I laugh and cut deeper into his skin, cutting through his shirt.

His whole body was tense underneath me but still he didn't scream out. I frowned. I wanted him to scream, I needed him to scream. So I cut in deeper until he let out this horrible howling noise that sounded more like a dying wolf than a boy.

_A boy . . . barely sixteen . . ._

_No! He's a demon, the true monster who tore me into shreds from the inside out! He deserves more than what I'm doing, he needs to suffer!_

I growled and kept cutting into his back, watching the blood flow from split skin and listening intently for his screams. He was able to hold back most of them until I reached his lower back. The sound chilled me to the bone but it also made me stronger. Like I said before, I needed this. I needed it badly.

I remembered how brutal he was with me, how vulnerable I was when he . . . took me. I shook as a horrible, horrible idea surfaced the darkest breaches of my mind. There was a better place I could dig the knife in. A place where it would do more than hurt him. I felt this feral grin twist my face into something awful, yet it also seemed natural. I slowly shifted his shirt up, not disturbed by the harsh lines of red running along his back. What interested me was the faint scars intertwined with my deep cuts. They looked like lash marks. I couldn't hold back the shudder as I realized that the last time I saw Roxas' naked I hadn't seen him from the back.

I swallowed and pulled down his pants. They were even more bruises on his butt. They were faded, so they had obviously been given to him a long time ago. But . . . they had to have been brutal if I could still see faint outlines of them now. I froze at that moment, I couldn't take my eyes off the damage. My eyes still stayed in that direction, even when Roxas pulled his pants up and pushed me off of him. I was still clutching the knife but I couldn't lift it anymore. I just stared at him with wide eyes, feeling my bloodlust drain away the longer he stared at me.

His eyes narrowed. "Why did you stop?"

My throat was suddenly parched and I licked my lips as nervous energy spread through my fingers. "Who . . . who did that to you?"

"Answer my question first!" I barely had time to block as his fist connected roughly with my arm. He almost got me in the neck. "Why the hell did you stop, huh?!" He pushed me into the floor. In one fast motion he easily maneuvered the knife out of my hand, aiming it at my throat. I had no choice but to answer him now.

"I . . . I can't do it. I can't hurt you that way . . . " I looked away. "I was so mad before but . . . I just can't." I wanted to cry but then I thought how screwy that would be. Crying because you didn't have the strength to commit an act that was too evil to mention. I shivered. _No, I shouldn't cry for that._

"You pity me." He spat it at me as if I had stabbed him repeatedly where it would have hurt (where I had planned to dig it in). "You're such a freaking idiot!" I heard something hiss in the air, the sound of something moving with incredible speed. His hand.

I felt my face shift to the side after the hit. I didn't even flinch. I didn't feel like moving anymore. But I could still speak. "Who did that to you, Roxas?"

It was silent for a few minutes until a scream broke it. It was mine this time. I grunted after he finished dragging the knife into my stomach only to scream even louder when he did it again, lower this time.

"You were the one who wanted to know," he said darkly before cutting into my stomach again. After a few minutes he got off me and I moved away, dragging my weight around with my elbows. I groaned and looked at my torn shirt. In bloody letters, etched into my skin, was the word Aerith.

"Your_ mom_ did this?!"

Roxas smirked. "You think just because I raped you you've experienced true pain? Sora, you don't know the half of it." He walked slowly into the kitchen, grabbing more knives. I gasped and stood up, running away just before a dozen could impale me into the wall. He still had two free ones in his hands and ran towards me, screaming, "What you went through was nothing! Do you understand?! I could've killed you so easily, hell the day we met I knew you were weak."

I took in a deep breath and grabbed one of my dad's samurai swords from the display. It felt almost forbidden in my hands, I had never been allowed to touch them. I went into a stance I had seen him do in the yard when he practiced. I was no master, but I wasn't going to go down without a fight this time.

Roxas sneered. "Relying on your father's methods will get you no where. He's worse than you. Only a coward makes his son do the dirty work." His sneer turned into a smirk and I saw the white of his eyes. "But you're different. I respect you Sora, so I'm going to make your death special. I'll give you a good, slow death. You'll understand true suffering then."

_You're crazy, Roxas. Curse or not, you are crazy._ "You're the one who is weak if you have to hurt others to escape your own problems," I muttered, trying to back away even though I had a weapon. I didn't feel the need to hurt him anymore. I wouldn't be influenced by him. There had to be a way out.

Roxas laughed at me. "You can't escape, Sora. We both can't." He stared at the guitar in the corner of the room. I hadn't even realized it was there. "_He_ won't let us."

"It's just a guitar," I said, blocking his view from it.

"No. No, you just don't get it. It's alive. It talks. It sings." Roxas took a step towards me. I took one back, ironically closer to the guitar. He smiled. "It's almost over for me, I'm almost done with my sacrifice. Then I'll be free from this curse . . . and I'll join Mom."

I was getting desperate now. I didn't like where this was going. "What about everything she did to you?! How could you want to go back to someone who never really loved you?!"

"She did love me. She showed me in so many ways." He lowered his knives for a second, eyes glazed. "Most of them hurt . . . but that was her way of showing it . . . and a part of her sacrifice."

_If I kept him talking could I stop this altogether?_ "Roxas . . . "

"No, it's time to end this. For good this time." His smile was sad now but still twisted and I squealed as a knife impaled me in the side while another one nearly hit me in the knee (I jerked it away at the last second). He nearly ran into me when I remembered my sword and swung it vertically, catching him in the forehead with the tip, cutting him from the tip of his eyebrow to his ear. He grunted and ducked, punching me in the stomach where he wrote the bloody name.

I screamed and held on tightly to the sword, stopping myself from slamming into the wall by dragging the sword into the ground. I took the knife out of my side and kicked his lower back, which sent him to the ground in an ungraceful heap. I stabbed his leg, ignoring the sound coming out of his throat as I pulled it out harshly.

He rolled over and pushed himself back up, tackling me to the floor. I kicked his jaw before and slammed a palm into his chest. I punched towards his nose but he blocked and grabbed my hand, twisting. I yelled and jammed my knee into his stomach again. He spat blood into my face, rolled away and coughed up more blood.

It was an opening. I should have attacked him then. I could have ended it. But no. I was staring at the guitar now. I limped over to it, barely aware of Roxas' coughs, and lifted my sword up.

"Sora! Sora, don't!" The genuine fear in his voice surprised me. I looked back at his face and saw the panic in his eyes.

_This just means I'm making the right choice._ "You wanted to end it, I'm ending it!" I pushed the sword into the guitar's hole and used all my strength to cut through it with the knife. I could barely hear Roxas' screaming, barely hear the sound of the sword ripping up the guitar because a deadly voice was singing into my ear. Beckoning to me. The voice grew louder and louder until I couldn't hear anything else.

The sword cracked at the tip, then the damage kept climbing up the sword. I had to let go when it reached the hilt. I looked down at the guitar. Whatever damage I had caused it was gone. Then just as I was about to move away the sword exploded in my face. The pieces scattered all around me in a wide circle, but the ones I noticed were the ones that imbedded themselves in my forehead. I don't remember falling to the floor, I don't remember the blood streaming down my face, I don't remember how Roxas kept screaming.

No. All I remember is the singing.

* * *

**Note VIII**

Hmmm . . . I guess that wasn't such a happy memory at all.

Odd. There had to have been more fighting than that (bloodlust, revenge, swordplay).

Did I **miss** something?

It doesn't matter. I can't save Roxas (he's not breathing). He's beyond saving (he's not breathing). I never should have tried (I'm the reason he's not breathing).

Or . . . maybe he didn't want to be saved (his fault).

Well, he's **free** now. Whatever this thing is . . . whatever is inside the guitar is using me now. Roxas is free (selfish). His suffering has ended (at what cost?).

Now it's my turn to **choose**. I can play the song, understand it, obey it . . . or I could ignore it.

Can't leave though. Why can't I? I want to go.

Is it a part of the song? Does it want me to **stay**? Why? How long?

The **notes** . . . what are they trying to tell me?

Wait . . . oh . . . I can't do that. I can't.

(Rather die. Wait . . . that's right, I can't die)

This isn't fair. You didn't do this with Roxas.

Oh . . . he cooperated? You want me to cooperate? And if I don't cooperate I'll have to stay here and play for you forever?

Huh . . . forever is a long time (can't **last** that long).

No. I'm not going to let you do this to me. I'll find a way to get rid of you, I don't have to **leave** this house to beat you.

(Not like **anyone** would come)

Yeah, I can beat you.

Go ahead and keep singing if you want. I'll play, but that's all I'll do.

You think I'm **weak**? You think I can't make it?

Wrong. You're wrong.

Memories . . . you'll force me to relive my memories? My painful memories?

. . . oh . . . well I never thought of that (can't last long).

Even . . . even so . . . (can't).

I'll only play . . . (last).

I'll keep playing this stirring love song just for you.

And that's all I'll do (long).

* * *

"Hey, Kairi! Wait up!"

Said girl stopped and sighed exasperatingly as a short, rather obstinate brunette nearly crashed into her from behind. Selphie. That girl had such bad timing. "What?" Kairi asked, forcing herself to sound polite, even if Selphie had **interrupted** something rather important.

"You promised me that we would go to the beach after school." Selphie adopted a no-nonsense look before placing her hands on her hips. "You promised, Kai."

"I know. I'm not **breaking** it. I'll go after I take a trip into town." She was surprised how easily the **lie** came out of her mouth. "I'll call you when I'm ready, alright?"

Selphie sighed. "Is this about what's-his-name again?"

"Sora," Kairi said curtly. "And no, it's not." Another lie.

"Sheesh, maybe he's being homeschooled. You know how** far** away he lives from us." Selphie shrugged, as if that would settle the matter.

Kairi frowned. "Don't you think it's strange that he hasn't shown up in six months? I checked with the front office and they said that he was never taken out of school. They still have him on record as being truant. The police would have been involved if they weren't busy with other things on the Western side."

"Whoa, you're starting to head into stalker territory, Kairi. Tread cautiously." Selphie laugh was cut off when an elbow smacked her in the ribs. "Ow!"

"That wasn't funny."

"Sheesh, can't you take a joke? I know you like the guy but it's best to move on. He wasn't your type anyway. Now his brother on the other hand. Hell, he was a looker. Well, what about him? Was he checked out?"

"Just drop it, Selphie. Please." It was a tiring conversation they revisited every few weeks. It had only gotten worse since Kairi revealed that she had a crush on Sora. It was definitely one of the decisions Kairi **regret**ted ever making in her high school career.

The second was not telling Sora **soon**er.

"Kairi, you know I only have your best interest at heart."

Kairi took a deep breath, trying her hardest not to push away her friend's brutish arms as they enveloped her in a rough hug. It wasn't easy being nice. "Look, I have to **go**."

Selphie rolled her eyes. "Humph, fine. I know when I'm not wanted."

Before Kairi could say anything to retaliate her friend had ran off into the distance. With a sigh, Kairi started walking back in the direction she had been going previously. She would make it up to Selphie** later**. It was hard to hold back the anger based from her nosy friend's comments.

Even though it had been a lie, Kairi really couldn't pinpoint how the journey she was onto now was related to Sora. No. All she **heard** was singing. A soft melody that made her melt inside. Ever curious and resourceful, she just wanted to find out where the sound was coming from. That was all.

But . . . for some reason she felt like Sora was connected to it. If she tried to explain it to herself it would cause a headache, so she ignored the extra feelings for now and focused on the music. When she did that everything shifted out of** focus**. She couldn't feel her feet, couldn't feel the heat pressing down on her back or her school bag (which she dropped at some point because it became too** heavy** for her. Strange considering she didn't feel the pressure). Even time seemed to come to a standstill, though the sun still moved across the horizon. However, she walked on.

Eventually, she reached a medium-sized house. It was somewhat modern with an old style patio at the front. What caught her attention was the broken front windows to the left of the front door. She frowned and stopped walking, even though the music still** urged** her forward. When she stopped she realized that she was famished. When was the last time she had a decent meal? Hell, what time was it now? She coughed into her arm before knocking on the front door. "Hello?"

The door opened on her sixth swing. Sora smiled at her. "Kairi, you came." He sounded relieved but if one looked closely at his eyes they would have seen something different.

Kairi blinked before coming inside as she couldn't **deny** her stomach, but that didn't mean she was un**aware**. "You knew I was coming?" She asked, staring into the kitchen. She wrinkled her nose. The smell of bleach was everywhere.

Sora closed the front door before answering. "Yes. I'm the one who brought you here, after all."

She nearly had a sarcastic retort to make because of that, but the hunger pains in her stomach were making it hard to stand. She would question him after she ate. "Is it okay if I can eat something?"

"Sure. Have anything. I'll be in my room." He pointed in front of him. "It's down the hall to your **left**."

She nodded once, staring at the **cuts** on his wrist instead of where he was pointing. _Hold yourself back. Don't say anything insensitive._ "Okay, I'll be there in a moment."

"Can't wait."

She watched him run (almost skip?) down the hallway. She had known him before as a laidback person in school. But the cheerfulness seemed **forced** to her. Again, before she could think up a serious analysis, her stomach berated her. Muttering a few swear words under her breath, she quickly went into the kitchen and made herself a sandwich. She pulled out one of the knives to cut it but then stopped when she noticed the rusted blood marks on it. She frowned and sniffed it, shuddering when her nose was overwhelmed by the powerful bleach smell.

The whole house **smelled** like bleach.

Swallowing, she gingerly put the knife back and quickly sank her teeth into the sandwich, ignoring the nausea building up in her chest. Perhaps she should leave after eating. No, that wouldn't be wise. She didn't even remember how she got there in the first place. Sora would probably have to take her back later. Either that or she could call to have someone pick her up.

"You almost **done**, Kairi?"

Even though he wasn't in the same room, his voice was loud. It startled her. "Yeah," she yelled, wiping her mouth free of bread crumbs. She continued eating her sandwich on the go, focusing on chewing instead of the smell, then went down the hallway towards the** right**. She opened the door closest to her, going inside. What she saw made her come to a stop.

A familiar blonde boy whose face was pale enough to remind her of the overused bloodsuckers in all her best friend's paranormal books. His eyes were closed and his hands were laced on his lap. The rest of his body was covered by a black blanket, which contrasted oddly with his skin. She tilted her head, staring at his chest, waiting to see the up-and-down motion of his stomach, the signal of life. He didn't move.

The realization came just as someone moved her back a few steps before slamming the door shut. "Oh, you don't want to bother him. He's sleeping right now." Sora grinned at her sheepishly. "He's a pretty deep sleeper, but you never know."

"Right . . . " She swallowed. "So . . . um . . . "

"Oh right, I wanted to show you something!" He grabbed her hand, squeezing. She couldn't feel her fingers anymore. "Let's go!"

"Oh, well, actually," she kept talking even as he led her away. "I think maybe I should **wait** in the living room."

Sora smirked at her. "There's nothing to do in there, Kai. Besides, the TV is broken." He winced after finishing the last sentence before pulling her into his room.

"I . . . didn't notice that." She also didn't notice that Sora had said more words to her in the span of a few minutes than he had all semester. And, to top it all off, she didn't **notice** him closing the door behind her. Her attention was on the wall.

The writing was lush and in perfect penmanship, painted with care. It was almost too fancy for her to read but soon she was able to make out the names. A series of names. A **list**. She tilted her head and walked closer, reaching her hand out to touch one of the script. However, she stopped when she noticed a pattern that affected most of the names. Each one had a diagonal line **slash**ing across the letters.

_What is that for?_ She frowned and started skimming over the names. No, there were too many names to skim. She started skipping. But each elaborate name was slashed . . . all except one. Her eyes paused on the last three names: **Roxas**, **Sora**, and **Kairi**.

Kairi stared at her name, the **only** one not slashed, for a long time. Then she turned only to see that Sora had been standing right behind her. She let out a small screech and jumped back. He grabbed her arm. "Sora, let go!"

"I'm sorry. But I can't." He smiled sadly at her and then he pulled her into a hug. She seemed to relax after that, staring numbly at the doorway. She saw that the key was still inside the lock. Surely Sora didn't leave the opening on purpose . . . or whatever the case was. She didn't fully know what was going on, but she had seen enough signs. Things wouldn't end well unless she found a way to escape.

She was mulling over her options when Sora placed his hand on the back of her neck, tilting her face up a little and he kissed up her neck slowly. Her mind went in a circle before crashing as he moved up to her ear, whispering a few things softly. Apologetically.

When he finished Kairi shoved him with her palms. She **wasted** no** time** getting to the door, moving her hands against the knob. The key wouldn't budge no matter how hard she tried to turn it. Her hands were shaking too much. It was all too much.

_This is crazy. He's crazy. This is all crazy._

She was about to kick the door down when she felt something crack against her back. Her body shook with the hit and she fell to the ground, panting. She turned slowly, ignoring the **wet**ness soaking her back, staring at Sora with wide eyes. "What . . . what are you doing?" She asked, voice desperate.

His sad smile hadn't left as he rolled the thick piece of leather in his hands. "Kairi . . . I already told you what I'm going to do." He walked over and kneeled against her huddled form, pushing his hand into her hair. "You already know what's going to happen."

She flinched from his touch and tried to move away in vain, but he had her pressed against the door. "Stop, this doesn't make any sense!"

Sora chuckled. "I stopped trying to understand this a long time ago." He moved his hand from her hair to her cheek. "All I know is that you're the right person for me."

It was amazing how **wrong** that sentence sounded now to her. How a few minutes could change a hopeful possibility into an unwilling nightmare. Kairi sucked in a breath. "I'm . . . I'm not. You have the wrong person."

Sora tilted his head. "Tell you what. I'm going to give you a chance to **escape**." He quickly pulled out the key that had previously been in the door and handed Kairi a different one. When she just stared at it he placed it in her hand and closed her fingers around it. "This unlocks the door to this room. If you run fast enough you just might make it out of the house. However . . . " Sora's smile disappeared. "If you choose to come back I won't hesitate to do what he told me to do."

Like she would ever come back. Kairi barely acknowledged him. She simply jammed the key into the door and practically tripped into the wall before making a sharp turn. Sora blinked once then turned to the guitar in the room. He frowned. "I'm not disobeying you. You said I had to give her hope first. Hope that she could avoid this."

He nodded once towards the guitar, as if a voice was speaking to him from it (it probably was). "She'll come back . . . and she knows it too." He grabbed the base of the guitar and started playing it. "She knew the moment I told her to leave. I explained the whole scenario . . . yet she still decides to run." A tear slid down his face as he laughed. "I'm not surprised she didn't believe me."

As if on cue, just as he was reaching the second part of his song, Kairi walked in stiffly, eyes wide and mouth parted in an O shape. She closed the door herself, relocked it, then continued her stiff walk until she was in front of Sora. He could see the shock and fear in her eyes as she handed him the keys. "I can't . . . can't **control** my legs," she muttered numbly.

Sora kept playing with his right hand while taking the key with his other one. "See? I knew you would come back."

Kairi gritted her teeth but besides the agitation showing in her face the rest of her body remained calm and poised. "This isn't right. I . . . I didn't **want** to come back! I just . . . I just heard . . . "

"You heard singing." Sora repeated for her. When she remained silent he set the guitar down. She still didn't move. He chuckled humorlessly. "This is how it always starts."

Kairi swallowed hard. "You're not going to get away with this."

"Maybe. But, what you say doesn't matter much anymore." He pulled out a knife. "Soon you won't be able to speak at all."

"S-Sora . . . " She still couldn't move, only stare with wide, tear stained eyes as he cut around her upper lip.

"Shhh, it will be over soon, Kai," he said, lifting up the knife, pointing it at her left eye. "And then when that happens you'll decide what you want to do."

Before she could say another word he stabbed her roughly with the knife. She didn't scream. The only sound in the room was coming from the lone guitar a few feet away, notes fluttering in open space as a puddle of blood reached the tip of the guitar's hollow front.

And then the music ended the **hollow** screams in it's absence were left to drift away as Sora dragged Kairi out of the room, closing the door sharply as the notes from the guitar started up again.

* * *

**END OF NOTES**

* * *

**And . . . that's the end.**

**A little over half a year . . . this freaking story took me a little over half a year, gosh darn it! AAAAAAaaaaaarrrrrgh!**

**Anyway . . . in this short story I was playing with some different styles, mainly as far as presentation goes with all the bold lettering. As for abuse, this is the farthest I've ever gone with the violence (including my first time doing a rape scene). So, if you can, criticism is much appreciated there. Of course, if you skipped it then that's fine too.**

**This really started out as a simple idea in which I just wanted Roxas and Sora to get into a fight and Roxas was supposed to beat Sora to death. The idea changed a lot as it almost became an original story, but that plan sort of backfired in the long run . . . and then the guitar curse came in weeks later. I literally spent about half a year on this story, mainly cause I was almost afraid to go through with the violence. However, I wanted to prove to myself that I COULD write a story this dark and . . . here's the result.**

**Thank you for taking the time to read! Please let me know what you think as the horror genre really isn't my speciality (though I've been told that I do a good job making creepy characters . . . which somehow end up showing up in almost all of my fics). Until next time fellow readers/writers!**

**Justice T.**


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